


Harvest Moon - Autumn Festival

by moor



Series: Smut Monday [4]
Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M, Humor, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 03:58:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8782039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moor/pseuds/moor
Summary: Uchiha Madara x Haruno Sakura. Naruto 'verse. Post Final Battle, during Madara's 'rehabilitation' period in Konoha. Smut Monday fic. PWP.





	

“—ck your entire clan, Neji,” muttered Sakura, strutting away while offering a single-fingered salute.

Around them the bar’s occupants cat-called the kunoichi and parted for her to pass through unobstructed.

Behind her, wearing his drink, Neji glared at Sakura with a pinched expression before slicking his beer-soaked hair back. He did not follow.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath as she exited the bar, Sakura counted to ten before her shoulders sagged and she slowed her pace, embarrassment and humiliation tempering her victory rage.

Really. This was what her night had turned into?

She swallowed and stretched her neck back as she looked up at the stars. They held no answers, either.

_Was it really that hard to find a competent man who was well-built, had good hair and hygiene, and who could treat her with respect?_

“He couldn’t have been that bad if you left the wall behind him standing,” remarked a male voice from behind her.

_Yes, apparently it was impossible._

“Your curfew was three hours ago,” she reminded him, turning to face him. She crossed her arms, her hip jutting to the side. “And you aren’t allowed any alcohol,” she said, brows dipping when she caught sight of his warm carafe of sake.

Madara shrugged.

“Time off for good behaviour.”

“You don’t get that.”

“I never said it was allocated to me. I took it,” he explained. His lips quirked into a faint smirk.

The chilly wind reminded Sakura that autumn had arrived and she was still wearing her short skirt and light top. Her boots helped but wouldn’t repel the cold long now that she wasn’t surrounded by hot-blooded bar patrons.

No, instead she was stalked by Uchiha Madara.

“Go home,” she said with a small sigh. She turned back to the road that led to her place, and promptly cursed when she heard his whispered footfalls following her.

“Did you notice how bold the moon looks tonight?”

“It’s the Harvest Festival, of course the moon is huge. It’s always huge around this time in September, that’s why so many people were out on the patio of the bar and walking together in families. They’re all out looking at the moon,” said Sakura, her footsteps on the well-worn Konoha street echoing in the cool evening air. “If you say anything creepy about the moon that sounds like apocalyptic foreshadowing, I’m bypassing my apartment and going straight to the Hokage Tower. Just so we’re clear.”

Now at her elbow, Madara chuckled.

“I was going to tell you a tale of an old scholar. It is a story from long ago,” he said. “A poet and great historian loved his country so much, he vowed to always protect it and fight for it. Even if it meant going against what the bureaucrats said, or the generals said, or the Hokage said, or the Daimyou said.”

Madara’s voice was low, smooth and hypnotic. Against her will Sakura found herself listening intently.

“He spent his days drinking and his nights writing by the light of the moon and stars, and was the best and closest friend the Hokage ever had.”

Her anger abating, Sakura slowed her pace to match Madara’s as they meandered down along the side of the river.

“One day, his suggestions to the Hokage so angered the Hokage’s advisors that some of them gathered together and planned a coup. At first, they exiled him, and he was sent far, far away. Away from the family he loved, away from the friends he cherished, away from the land he protected with all his heart.”

The running water beside them gurgled and rushed with its current, the occasional fish leaping from it only to splash down again further away. Above them the trees rustled with dry, multicoloured leaves, and the light wind stirred a light susurration. The chill was pleasant, and Sakura rubbed her arms to keep herself comfortable during her walk with Madara. As they passed residences, wood smoke tickled her nose as woodstoves burned down for the evening inside.

“All he had time to gather were his precious tools: his scrolls and his ink. His brushes were dashed to pieces by the soldiers who evicted him, so he made his own by shaving his head and binding the hair to the reeds he found along the riverbeds.”

“He sounds very resourceful, this scholar,” remarked Sakura. She hated to admit it, but Madara’s story calmed her. It didn’t hurt that for once he wasn’t being a pompous aristocrat stuck in his past. Since he’d been resurrected after the War he’d been giving a final chance at a peaceful life, the one he always wanted. While trying for everyone, he was adjusting… in his own way.

“Ah, he was,” agreed Madara as they continued down a winding path that took them closer to the rocky water’s edge. “He also enjoyed song and drink, and even if no one would listen, he would sing to the moon and the fish and the dragons in the water.”

Against her better judgement, Sakura allowed herself a smile.

“But the Hokage missed his friend and colleague, and still they wrote to each other secretly. Theirs was a friendship and partnership that even great distances couldn’t sever. The greedy, power-hungry advisors underestimated the intelligence of the scholar and the Hokage. They sent spies after him, and they also set spies upon the Hokage.”

Sakura nodded, rubbing her arms again.

“The scholar tried to warn the Hokage about the spies, but the other advisors found out. Soon they sent assassins after the scholar. While the scholar was a great and resourceful man, he was a politician, not a warrior. One night when he drank too much rice wine, he became inebriated on his river boat home. The assassins found him and tipped him over the side, drowning him.”

Her eyes widening and her heart pinching, Sakura glanced up at Madara’s calm face.

“What happened?” she gasped.

“Well, the villagers who knew the scholar and remembered him from teaching their children soon realized he was no longer there when they found his boat floating without him the next day. They hurried and worked together, and soon a feast was prepared and dumped into the water.”

“What!”

Madara smiled at her gently.

“They did this because they hoped he was still alive. By giving the fish and dragons so much food to eat, they hoped that in this way they would be too full to eat the scholar, and he would have a chance to come home.”

They walked in silence a moment before crossing over a bridge. The moon’s reflection on the water lit its surface like a giant orange lantern, and Sakura stopped, resting her hands on the red railing, admiring the ripples and play of light.

“His last poem was written about the beauty of the moon which had always kept him company at night, no matter where he was,” said Madara as he stood at Sakura’s side, his body warming hers with its proximity.

“Was he talking about the moon, or was he talking about his friendship with the Hokage?” asked Sakura.

She let out a small breath and leaned into Madara, relaxed and comforted with his steady presence.

“Perhaps both,” said Madara.

They listened to the water coursing beneath the bridge, under their feet, and the sound of the frogs and reed-hoppers.

The temperature had dropped further and Sakura gave a small shiver.

 _Time to head home_ —her thoughts were interrupted by an oversized coat being wrapped around her shoulders.

She arched a brow as she looked up at Madara, but he was still staring at the water. She snorted quietly under her breath, burrowing into the comforting heat of his coat.

“Thank you,” she said. She knew he would understand. It wasn’t just for the coat. It was for the walk. It was for the story. It was for not making her feel juvenile about getting angry. It was for distracting her so she could calm down. It was for giving her a bit of space while keeping her company.

“You may pay me back in sexual favours,” he advised her.

Sakura punched him.

* * *

 

**(At Madara’s home, since he wasn’t allowed to stay overnight at anyone’s house without an ANBU escort)**

“We could have gotten to this part sooner if you’d been less stubborn,” said Madara crossly. He pressed himself into Sakura’s back and kissed his way down her throat, pulling her hair to the side as a clone undid the buttons of her shirt.

“This is absolutely,” gasped Sakura, “the last time. I mean it.”

With one hand buried in Madara’s hair she tugged him closer and ground into his tented trousers.

“We would have already been naked if you hadn’t insisted on seeing the Hyuuga,” he said, voice dark and threatening. He reached into the breach he’d parted in her blouse, cupping her breast and massaging it, weighing it and rubbing the stiffening nipple between his fingers.

“He said it was village business and wanted my opinion.”

She ran her other hand down his side and leg before bending her elbow and grasping his erection through his pants, squeezing him and feeling him swell in her palm.

“My village business is bigger and more important,” said Madara, rocking into her palm.

Sakura smiled and fondled him the way he liked, teasing the tip with her nail lightly. His warm breath cascaded over her shoulder and down her chest in appreciation.

“You know you’re supposed to be looking for a wife. It’s part of your reintegration agreement. Three years to become a f-father,” she said, stuttering when he brought his other hand up to cup her other breast and flick her nipples in tandem.

“In time,” he agreed, chuckling when she whimpered and rolled her body against his.

His hands caressed her silky skin above the satin cups of her plunge bra, tracing the lace edging before running a knuckle down each of her sides. He blew gently against her ear, murmuring,

“You wore my favourite set on purpose.”

Inside her, Sakura’s core clenched at the arrogance and pride in his voice. He’d known she wore this for him, he’d been planning on getting her to reveal it to him. Was she so predictable?

“I like it,” he said, pulling her shirt away and sliding down first one strap of her bra, then the other. “Let’s keep this one in one piece.”

With delicate ministrations he drew it from her body and set it carefully aside on an uchiwa-fan crested trunk by the foot of his king-size bed. Then he turned to Sakura with a hungry, predatory look that always thrilled her.

He returned to press kisses down her front, between her freed breasts as Sakura’s hands returned to his hair, holding him to her in her need.

He chuckled.

“So wanton tonight.”

“That time in my cycle,” she said in excuse. With confident hands she undressed him, placing kisses along his neck and shoulders, dotted with the occasional bite. With each nip his fingers gripped her hips just a little bit harder; it excited her.

“Skirt on or off?” she breathed when she felt his questing fingers nudging aside her panties and testing her depths.

“On,” he ordered with a small growl when his fingers came back slick and ready. With that, he slid them down her smooth legs before tossing them aside.

In an instant they were on his bed, Sakura leaning over him with her legs snug around his hips.

“Use me,” he told her, leaning his forehead against hers. “Ride me. I want to watch you come apart around me.”

He dragged his hands down her naked back to her hips, angling her and rocking up against her slit to press against her pleasure center and setting their rhythm.

“I can do it myself,” argued Sakura, even as her mouth fell open at the pleasure he already stoked in her.

He smirked.

“Show me,” he taunted, his lips pulling back to reveal his teeth.

And even though she knew he was goading her, Sakura was too tempted and teased to resist. With his dark gaze held in her emerald one, she grasped him firmly and stroked him hard before taking him inside her. Her pulse fluttered as he filled her and she cursed herself for always forgetting the sheer girth of her lover, how satisfying he felt inside her, massaging the walls of her channel as she clenched around him.

She felt his grunt more than heard it and it was her turn to smirk at him.

“Little snug?” she teased, gripping his shoulders as she raised and lowered herself on his cock before grinding down on him—for her own pleasure. As he’d directed, of course.

His eyes flashed red when she squeezed him again, and she felt him tensing beneath her fingers.

“Has it been a while for the Uchiha?” she asked in faux concern, her rhythm increasing in tiny increments to drive him to the brink. “Having trouble controlling yourself?”

Madara narrowed his eyes at Sakura as she pressed herself closer to him, her breasts rubbing against his firm pectorals with each undulating grind. Her skirt hid the secret places where they were connected, yet created an erotic tableau for Madara to feast his eyes upon. The swish of the material, the way its softness brushed against his thighs added to the experience for him.

“You know, if it gets to be too much,” she said, her lips brushing his soft as a whisper. “You can just ask me to stop. I know older men don’t have the stamina of their younger counterparts.”

His eyes flashed red and remained red, and Sakura kissed his lips, teasing his lower lip with her tongue.

“Does someone want his control back?” she asked, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck. She pulled him down for a deep kiss, her eyes closing as she sighed into his mouth—

—before she felt him grab her tight with one arm to hold her in place, the other reaching between them, beneath her skirt, to stimulate her clit. She gasped openly into his mouth before moaning hard and pressing into his hand.

“Don’t ever push me, Sakura,” he growled, letting out a low moan when she squeezed him in retaliation.

He swore as he began pounding into her in time with the attention to he paid between her legs with his hand.

It wasn’t long before they both felt the fire burning higher and hotter between them, their chests panting as they surged a final time together and released with blinding white light and a gasp of each others’ name.

After a brief cleanup, they curled up together under the covers of Madara’s bed, Sakura resting her exhausted, satisfied head on his shoulder.

“You’re supposed to be finding a wife,” she murmured on a happy sigh. Her arm lay across his middle, their legs intertwined. The air around them was cooling, but beneath the blankets they were more than warm enough.

“Hn. I have someone in mind,” he said cryptically. He traced his hand down her head to smooth her hair. “Rest.”

**The End.**

**Author's Note:**

> AN: HUGE thank you to tumblr user maybe-please who created this fanart of Sakura and Madara! Hahahaha, I love it!!  
> http://maybe-please.tumblr.com/post/152854779026/maybe-please-ive-decided-to-make-sunday-my


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